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"As the silence at the heart of the note supports all aspects of the song, so shall this spot remain empty, a town square from whence shall radiate peace and chords of joy even as our settlement grows to fulfill all promises."
We hummed a chord and held it, and the single multiplex tone droned from and through us, raising our i
The rest of that, I guess I must call it evening, Castell passed among us, squatting to chat here, pausing to give assistance there, spreading calm and confidence everywhere. His confidence radiated like a warmth more sustaining than the heat of fire.
After eating a tortilla rolled around celery with ten-bean sauce, I followed him on his rounds. My admiration for him may well have grown, if such was possible. He knew the right things to say to everyone, and knew all their names, all nine hundred of them. He even knew the names of the babes, not yet counted as Chosen, but certainly blessed by the harmonics of their parents.
When we returned to the center of the small square, Castell's crate was still there. I noticed that it was labeled with a Xeno-Biology warning symbol, a red triangle in a green square, with the legend HYBRID GRAINS.
Gesturing for me and the eight other acolytes to be seated, he treated us to a story about his father, Garner "Bill" Castell, adventurer, founder of our church, and our spiritual patriarch. As he wove aural spells of incident, plot, and character, I let my memory stray back to my only glimpse of Garner "Bill" Castell, lying in state in that old Victorian style mansion on the hill.
He had lain smiling faintly even in death as his son, left with the flock, left with the dream of a promised land, and left with just about enough church assets to assure new-found Haven's settlement rights, cried and ranted in a far corner at the unapproachable man's still unapproachable corpse.
Though he spoke now with affection, I knew Charles Castell still harbored complicated feelings for his father. "Be glad you knew yours," I whispered, sending out a prayer. And when the tale was told, all straining listeners smiled and nodded even as we acolytes laughed at the gentle humor of the ending.
Reverend Castell sat in a lotus position atop the crate and let his head loll slowly back until his face gazed upward. His eves were closed to our sullied, sin-ridden world. His i
In three layers of unbleached cotton and rolled into a wool shawl, I soon fell asleep. We acolytes, in deference to the reverend's disdain of personal comfort, ignited no fire for ourselves. At sixteen, I fancied myself able to live up to whatever impossible standards Charles Castell thought fit to demonstrate for us.
I dreamed of milk, warm from the udder, and honey, hot from the hive.
II
We awoke to the ground trembling.
A throbbing moved the air in jitters, and I rolled to a sitting position, ready to brace myself. After so long in space, our reflects were those of travelers. My thoughts were of asteroids, or ruptured bulkheads.
Once I realized we were on ground, however, I instantly thought of quakes, and glanced over to see Reverend Castell still sitting on the crate, as if he'd not moved as we all slept around him. He was shepherd to the flock, and an example to those who would attain true harmony, and I tried to be like him, despite my alarm.
And then someone said, "They're just leaving us here," and I knew that the vibrations came from the shuttle departing. With that thought came louder sounds, and then a glimpse of the dirty white ship in silhouette as it roared quickly upward from the middle of the lake, dripping water, soaring into the dark and clouds.
My chest tightened. Dizziness swept through me. We were alone. We were the only people on the entire planet, nine hundred of us.
Despite my desire to avoid such daunting thoughts, my mind's eye offered an imagined view from the departing ship: We'd look like less than a single spore of mold on the skin of an orange.
Tears welled. I stood and danced some tai chi to warm myself and calm my surging emotions. I missed Earth now more poignantly than I had just after departure, when the confinement of the transport had somehow crowded out any nostalgia.
Like many others, I stood gazing upward into Haven's dim sky long after the ship was invisible. Not even the clouds resolved into familiar shapes for us, and no birds flew over to bid us welcome.
Reverend Castell let his head loll forward, took a deep breath, and smiled as his eyes fluttered open. "So," he said. "At last." Rising from the crate, he jumped down and laughed, then rubbed his hands together. her. I thought the gesture more eagerness than a grab at friction's warmth. "We must awaken, and begin the tasks necessary to our survival," he said, his booming voice glittering with a hint of glee.
He strode from person to person in a widening circuit of our tiny meadow, his hands straying to touch children's heads and the many crates and supplies he passed. His ma
I ran to follow him, as was my place. My own hands now and then ruffled children's hair. I longed to emulate Reverend Castell in the deeper things, too. Giving blessings with total assurance must be a marvel, something rarer than humanity on Haven.
And then we came upon the rift in our wall of supplies.
It lay farthest from the lake, closest to the forest. The people there kept their gazes downward, and none spoke when Castell, his features frozen in an unreadable mask, asked, "How many?"
In a whisper I sent the other acolytes to count the Chosen. As they dashed off, I considered adding babes to the count, but the unworthiness of it blushed me and I was glad for once that my tongue had outpaced my thinking.
Reverend Castell stood motionless. He stared at the gap. Not even his eyes moved. His hands made fists and held them. Breezes shifted his robes, but inside those robes his body was still and solid as a statue.
Our count revealed that no more than twenty-three had decamped. The supplies, numbered and inventoried before departure from Earth and several times since, told their own tale. "They've taken only five crates' worth, Reverend," I reported, having checked the numbers myself. "Two of foodstuffs, one of embryos, one of farming implements, and another of medical supplies."
With each enumeration Castell's eyes widened a bit more, until, by the end of my list, his stare was maniacal. "Why?" he roared.
I jumped so hard I dropped the inventory scroll, which fluttered in a sudden gust of wind until I trod upon it, to keep it near. I dared not stoop to retrieve it.
"Why?" Reverend Castell demanded again in a quieter voice, his eyes narrowed to slits. Under his breath he began saying names, and I, being nearest, heard some of them. He was calling the roll of those who had absconded. My flesh rippled in awe at the man's perception, his memory.
Women and children started crying now, and the men pretended not to as some muttered fast prayers. Others began a soft harmonic humming, but Castell swept his right arm upward, cutting it off. He whirled, anger contorting his face, reddening it. "There is discord here," he said. His tones carried curses and damnation, thunder and fury, all wrapped in a desperate grip of will. His arms flew upward and he shrieked as if stricken, then he fell to his knees.
We acolytes rushed to help him, but a glare from him halted us as he said, "What must we do?" When his voice faltered in a sob, the Chosen held their breath, listening for his next command. We wanted guidance.